


No more keeping score - Now I just keep you warm

by Saltedkiss



Series: Merthur Week 2020 [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Merthur Week 2020, Post-Season/Series 02, Soft Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Sort Of, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28215465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltedkiss/pseuds/Saltedkiss
Summary: During the search for the Lady Morgana, who disappeared at the end of season two, Arthur and his men spend a lot of time together. Boundaries fade, friendships flourish. Unexpected confessions slip out.Merthur Week 2020 Day 1 - "You're an idiot" "But you love me" + fluffThis short story takes place during the year between series 2 and 3, when Arthur and his men search for Morgana.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merthur Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066913
Comments: 32
Kudos: 121
Collections: Merthur Week 2020





	No more keeping score - Now I just keep you warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eat_sleep_manatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eat_sleep_manatee/gifts).



The group of Knights had been traveling for months now. They didn’t rest, didn’t pause. Most of the damage the great dragon had wrought on the city of Camelot would have been repaired by now. But they hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t taken the time to go back. Every now and then a letter from friends and family back home reached them, which is how they knew. Prince Arthur of Camelot had led his Knights out into King Uther’s lands as soon as he’d been convinced the citadel’s walls were sturdy enough, even in the places where the stones had been weakened by the dragon’s hellfire. 

The people of Camelot still had work to do. And so did they. This group of valiant Knights in their crimson cloaks, led by their Prince. They’d left the citadel, their banners high. They’d followed lead after lead, tracked down every single woman who fit the description of the one they were searching for. And had found... Nothing. As days grew shorter and nights grew colder, they’d all but given up their hopes of finding the King’s ward, even though no one said it out loud. Every morning, they got up, put on their soggy boots and ate the gruel the Prince’s servant prepared for them, before mounting their horses for another day of endless meandering through woods and marshes. For more of the same clues that would lead them nowhere, even though they still followed every single one of them, in the hopes that maybe, this time... This time things could be different. 

It never was. 

They had stopped in an open field, near the border of Cenred’s lands, to set up camp for the night. As they started to put up their tents, no one spoke. Today had been even wetter than usual. The thick fog that had chilled everyone to the bone during the morning hike had been replaced by a relentless drizzle that had slowly crept into everyone’s clothing, into their bags that held their dry cloaks and spare clothing. Somehow, as if by magic, the Prince’s servant’s bags had been spared. He walked around through the camp as it was being set up and handed people dry blankets and warm socks after lighting small fires in front of each tent. The Prince's manservant put up handy wooden structures near the fires so the Knights had a way to dry their clothing and made sure to strike up a conversation with every single person he passed. Every time he moved on to another tent, it was clear the man had left more than a warm blanket behind. The people he’d spoken to had smiles on their faces. They continued the conversations the Prince’s manservant had started. They cracked jokes and one of them even managed to warm his numb fingers enough by the fire the servant had lit, to strike up a tune on his lute. 

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said, as soon as his manservant returned to the tent the two of them would share for the night. The Prince sat on a log he’d pulled close to the fire Merlin had lit, the dry cloak Merlin had given him still wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Of c-c-course, my lord,” Merlin answered, before cupping his hands in front of his mouth to breathe on them, in an attempt to warm them up. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you managed to hand every single person here something dry, but yourself.” 

When Merlin didn’t answer, Arthur grunted and got up. He unclasped his cloak and draped it around Merlin’s shoulders, raising it a little so Merlin’s ears were covered, too. Merlin looked over his shoulder and smiled at Arthur, who nodded back. 

“Sit here and don’t get up until your teeth are done shattering. Wouldn’t want to wake our dearest Cenred up with all that noise.” 

“I’ll k-k-keep that in mind, m-my Lord.” 

Arthur nodded again, before leaving Merlin by the fire, no doubt to go help his men prepare something to eat. Merlin watched him leave, a fond smile on his lips. 

The months they’d spent traveling together had somehow changed the dynamics between him and his Prince. Brought them closer. The bond between them, which had been unquestionable since the day they met, had only solidified during these lonely months on the road. Had grown stronger and had been moulded into something else entirely. Something more... comfortable. Easier. Here, around his men, Arthur didn’t have to be a Prince. Merlin didn’t have to be a servant. They could be friends. Equals in some ways. 

After only three days on the road, Arthur had told Merlin to buy himself a new set of boots to replace the worn pair he had on, as soon as they reached the next city on their itinerary. Merlin had been surprised Arthur had even noticed his limp, caused by the combination of the endless road ahead of them and his old, near sole-less boots. When Merlin had come back, wearing a new pair of sturdy footwear, he’d been positively dumbstruck to find Arthur waiting for him, the reigns of a chestnut mare in his hand. He’d handed them over to Merlin without saying a word and had glowered at Merlin until he mounted the gentle horse. After Merlin did, Arthur had told Merlin to follow him. He hadn’t given the signal to leave until Merlin rode right beside Arthur, in front of the Knights. A few days later, after everyone but a few restless men had settled down for the night, Merlin had urged Arthur to leave his tent and join them around the campfire, where he’d made an effort to involve Arthur in the stories he told the Knights until friendly banter and joyous laughter echoed through the night skies. The Knights had soon gotten used to Merlin and Arthur’s incessant bickering and had joined in at times. And one night, when a branch had broken off a tree during a storm and had ripped through Merlin’s tent, Arthur had offered his servant a place in his own rather than ask him to mend the tear. 

Merlin pulled Arthur’s cloak tightly around his shoulders and stared into the flames, his mind still on the journey so far. 

Not all of it had been bad. The hopelessness that came with their inability to find the Lady Morgana aside, the journey had been filled with joy and laughter. The camaraderie that had formed between the Prince and his Knights had been a beautiful thing to behold. Merlin had enjoyed seeing how the walls Arthur had put up around himself crumbled down. Had been grateful for the Prince’s willingness to open up, which in turn had brought him closer to his men than he’d ever thought possible. 

Merlin knew the Knights had all known what a great leader Arthur was. Had all seen how skilled he was as a fighter. Had witnessed him guide them through countless dangers to the city of Camelot. But only a handful of them had ever seen the person behind the crown. It was the pride Merlin felt in having had a hand in this, rather than the cloak that had been draped around his shoulders, that warmed him up in the end. 

Merlin looked around the camp they had set up for the night, pleased to see the warming charms he’d cast on everyone’s fires appeared to do the trick. Clothing that should have remained clammy for the next couple of hours seemed to dry, and with them, the group’s mood lifted as well. The conversations around him grew louder, more cheerful. The sounds of pots and pans being filled with venison, ale and various spices filled the air, soon to be joined with a mouth-watering scent that slowly drifted towards Merlin. 

Shortly after that, Arthur returned, holding two steaming bowls of venison stew, as well as a waterskin filled with ale. He took a seat next to Merlin on the log by the fire, so close their bodies touched and handed Merlin the bowl of stew. 

“Thanks, Arthur.” He didn’t even bother to blow on his spoon before shoving it into his mouth, burning his lips in the process. “Mh’is ‘ctually... good,” Merlin said with his mouth full of scorching hot stew, spitting out a few chunks in the process. 

“Don’t thank me yet, I helped make this. For all you know, you might not live to see another day.” 

Merlin felt Arthur’s chuckle resonate through his body, starting where their shoulders touched. And to think he’d felt cold not long ago. That was when Merlin remembered Arthur’s cloak was still wrapped around his body. 

“Your cloak, I-” 

“No.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.” 

“You were trying to be a hero and hand me my cloak back so you can get back to freezing to death, rather than eating the stew I made.” Arthur deadpanned. 

“If you think for one second that I’m willing to spend as much as one night in the dungeons when Uther finds out I’m responsible for you getting a cold, you’re wrong, Sire.” The last word sounded more like an insult than a title, drawing yet another chuckle from Arthur, that could be felt all throughout Merlin’s body. 

“No fan of the rats, are we?” 

“Not in the slightest.” 

Arthur gasped and continued, sounding offended, “I thought you just said you _liked_ the stew.” 

Merlin spat out what was left in his mouth and spent the next minute or so coughing up his lungs, while Arthur’s laughter echoed over the camp. 

“Prat,” came out in a choked voice as soon as Merlin was able to speak again. 

“ _Mer_ lin, I’m sure someone must have told you this by now, but I’m royalty. Only a total turniphead would dare to insult me like that.” 

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Sire. Please forgive me, must have been a slip up. I meant clotpole, not prat.” 

Merlin snickered when Arthur’s elbow hit him in the ribs. 

“You’re an idiot, _Mer_ lin.” 

“Must be, if I am to serve such a supercilious Prince.” 

“Oh admit it, you love me.” 

“I do,” Merlin said, without pause. 

Arthur froze. He went completely, utterly still, the spoon that had been on its way towards the Prince’s mouth frozen mid-air. The smile that had been on Arthur’s lips faded, until his lips were nothing but a thin line in an unmoving face. 

Merlin didn’t realise what he’d said until it was too late. Didn’t realise the effect his words would have until the damage was already done. He started rambling, babbled to fill the silence. The cloak around his body smothered him, he lowered it. The air around them seemed too thick, his incessant ramblings weren’t enough to penetrate the barrier which had gone up between the manservant and his stoic Prince. 

Eventually, Merlin gave up. He rose from his seat, set down the rest of his stew, folded the cloak and placed it on the log by the fire. “I’ll, I’ll er... I’ll go check on the horses now, Sire.” 

Arthur didn’t respond, his gaze still on the fire, his brows furrowed. 

Merlin didn’t return until much, much later, only to find Arthur in the exact same position he’d left him in. Noticing the Prince’s trembling body, Merlin walked over to him, picked up the forgotten cloak and draped it around Arthur’s shoulders, just as Arthur had done for him, mere hours ago. 

“Please sit down.” Arthur’s voice cracked when he spoke. 

Merlin did. He sat a bit further away this time. Their bodies didn’t touch like they had before. Arthur turned towards Merlin and took his time eyeing him over before taking Merlin’s hand in his own. 

“I would like for you to tell me something. But only if you want to. Not because I’m your Prince or because you feel ordered to do so.” 

Merlin kept quiet and stared at their joined hands. 

“Nod if you understand what I just said.” 

Merlin nodded. 

Arthur rubbed Merlin’s hands with his calloused fingers. “Your hands are cold.” 

Merlin nodded again. 

“You told me you love me.” 

Another nod. 

“Do you?” 

Finally, Merlin tore his eyes from their joined hands. His gaze went upwards, until his blue eyes met Arthur’s, the flames of the fire Merlin had lit earlier that night reflected in them. He licked his lips before opening his mouth. The words didn’t come out. Nothing but a huff of foggy condensed breath left his lips in the cold winter evening. Merlin noticed none of it around Arthur’s face, as if the man before him was holding his breath, waiting for an answer. Waiting for Merlin to gather the courage he needed to answer. 

“I do,” Merlin said without breaking eye-contact. His voice strong and unwavering when he finally did speak. 

Arthur sighed, freeing the breath he’d been holding. 

“Thank you.” Arthur pressed a featherlight kiss on Merlin’s knuckles, before saying it again. “Thank you, Merlin.” 

When Arthur finally let go of Merlin’s hand, it was to undo the clasp of the cloak around his shoulders. He moved over, until their bodies were flush against each other, and draped the cloak over the two of them. Under the soft crimson fabric, Merlin felt Arthur’s hand reach for his own again, felt him thread his fingers through Merlin’s, as they sat together, surrounded by the laughter of their men and the crackling of the fires Merlin had lit all around them. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to my dear friend Eat-Sleep-Manatee, without whom I wouldn't have participated in this event. This is one of our soft off-screen scenes, dear. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> The idea for this fic is loosely based on a post I saw on Tumblr. I haven't been able to find it, but if someone does, let me know and I'll link it here. It was about how our two idiots wouldn't have a big declaration of love, but it would just slip out at some point and they wouldn't realise what they'd said until hours later. 
> 
> As always: English is not my first language, and since I only decided I'd participate in the event yesterday, I haven't had anyone proofread this for spelling errors. If you find anything that needs fixing, feel free to tell me!


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